Snowblind
by Spliced-up-Angel
Summary: He had her memorized, knowing what would make her happy. She wonders if she regrets the shudder her icy skin makes when defrosted by his hot skin; the spark between their conflicting bodies that made a pale reflection bright enough to send one snowblind in bitter-sweet sensation. AU Gwent oneshot -request-


**Man, this took so long to write. I had another idea set up and had this one as a brain blast, then decided to write it. It originally was supposed to be AleGwen, but I felt Trent would work better and this should be the oneshot requested by my friend, Luiza TDI. I wrote most of this during summer school and picked it up a couple of weeks later to finish it. The name is based off "Snowblind" by Styx. It's a great song. XD This was really fun to write, it was just difficult to find a good way to end it. Anyways, enjoy~**

**Snowblind**

Her teal hair grabs onto her pale face, driven by the glue-like sweat that travels down her face like a river, into the pond which currently lies on her pillow. Her skin, white as snow, lies bare, tangled within the wrinkled white sheets. These sheets are paler than she is, reflecting the pale memories of the previous night that feels like it flew by five minutes ago, rather than five hours ago.

She doesn't know if she regrets this- the way their bodies were molded perfectly like a sculpture; the miraculous feeling she had as his hands brushed lines over her curvaceous body, leaving a trail of paint-like passion behind. He had her memorized; knowing what would make her happy. She wonders if she regrets the shudder her icy skin makes when defrosted by his hot skin; the spark between their conflicting bodies that made a pale reflection bright enough to send one snowblind in bitter-sweet sensation. She ponders if she regrets her smudged makeup drained between their skin like spaghetti or the way his dark hair felt griped in her hands as she was filled with angsty admiration of the tamed man who is, at this moment, soundless beside her.

She has these thoughts because she loves him. Easy enough? She doesn't want to hurt anyone, but can't live like this. With this loveless love making that sends shivers down her body when it comes in conversation; the fact that she can't say no. She knows he is lonely and has nobody else. She herself is lonely as well. She does not want to admit this as it may destroy the relationship they share- as dancer and stage; canvas and paint; artist and guitar; Othello and Desdemona.

She can hear his heavy breathing in and out like waves, even though their backs are to each other. She cannot sleep. Is he really sleeping? Or is he too trapped in his thoughts that he is merely pretending, hoping to mask the awkward situation they're in. Does he feel the same discomfort she feels? Is his heart breaking just as hers?

She looks at the clock at his bedside. It's six o'clock. She must have dozed off for a couple of hours and didn't realize it. She knows that he will wake up soon and they'd go over the awkward morning routine they rehearsed so well.

It works like this: He is alone and stressed from work. He decides to invite her over- assuming he broke up with a girl, seeing his vast amount of girl problems. Really, he is at fault for his girl problems because he cares for his lady more than anything. She knows this. But, she doesn't know where she stands. She loves him more than day, so she willingly trails into his house for supper, without second thoughts, with some excuse for her antics. He is shy when he is with her, but she only sees this as an act. She's known him forever. He can act. This hurts her.

She feels the bed move and hears the bed creak. He is awake. She can feel it. She breathes heavily, trying to appear asleep, yet he knows he too well. She might as well try for now. Maybe there will be a fine chance that he will seize to notice.

"Gwen? Are you awake?"

_Shit_, she mutters to herself, but cannot resist holding a scarlet blush. He is the only person who does these things to her. She feels a hand pat her head lightly. _He can't __help himself, can he?_ She feels his lips on her petite head.

"Good morning, Sunshine." She hears him whisper in her delicate ears. He says it lightly enough to send a fluffy feeling to ring inside her. She holds in a blush, smiles, and turns over. She allows his arms to wrap around her and hug her tightly. She doesn't want him to ever let go; he's warm like hot chocolate on a winter's day.

"Morning, Trent," she whispers. His emerald eyes shine against the light from the lamp that he had turned on. She didn't realize this. His lovely lips turn upwards into a fascinating smile. He chuckles lightly and kisses her lips that consist of what's left of her blue lipstick.

This is not real. She knows this. She and Trent. They are merely friends. Yes, just friends who have the benefit of loving each other like this. Two lonely souls that need one another to live. It's not like they're kidneys in the body of their relationship; it's not like one of them could just leave and the relationship would survive. She wants more, but does he?

She feels a growl escape from her stomach. "Hungry?" he asks.

In response, she looks down and nods. There is no need to guess what will happen next. She hates this part. The awkwardness of having to leave the conversational bed. To have to go into the lost world of unspoken words that are inching to come out. She wants to tell him her dilemma. She wants him to know what she is thinking. Yet, her shyness- her skeptical nature- is what draws her away from knowing this. She breathes in and tries hard to discard her thoughts against knowing the truth. She wants to be with him and with him she will be.

She follows him in the all too familiar kitchen, of which she'd been so many times. Each detail is carved perfection in her head. She needs not to even look to know that she is beside the tiny chair, pushed into the table for two, where she sat just the night before. She does not need to second guess where the high quality stove sits between the stone counters and never empty fridge. If she were to lose her sense of touch, she'd still feel the granite floor that lays bellow her feet as she travels across the ground.

She sits on the comfortable chair, making herself at home. She looks at her fingernails, painted black, and struggles to bring herself to begin a conversation. Luckily, he decides to take charge, which totally beats her starting a conversation about art school or how his band is doing. She is relieved. "You like coffee, right?"

However, this startles her. She jerks her head up and looks at him in the eyes. "No, that's Bridgette," she corrects him. She doesn't blame him; it isn't his fault. She knows that he forgets sometimes.

"Oh, right. I dated her, right?" He laughs slightly, but she knows it's awkward enough for him. She blinks in response and waits for him to continue. "You take your tea no sugar with a hint of cream," she watches as he smiles that thoughtful smile he gets when he remembers something about her. This makes her smile, too.

She waits a moment before she responds with, "Yeah." She quickly goes back to playing with her nails, shyly trapped in her own thoughts. She is used to this awkward, innocent, conversation after their time together. It needs to stop. They need to go further than spending only nights. She needs him and is going to let him know.

"Here you are, Gwen." She looks up to see him placing the tea in front of her, "It's nothing fancy, but I'm sure you'll like it."

She gulps and takes a sip. "Trent, why are you so nice to me?"

He looks a little taken aback by this, "Gwen, I like you-"

"No, don't bull shit me!" she snaps, her words are laced with impatience; embracing the yearning to know the truth. She needs an answer and she needs it now! She doesn't think twice about breaking through her shyness, but wonders... Is this more awkward than it needs to be? "Why is it, Trent? Why do you care so much to ask me to come over to comfort your broken-hearted ass whenever you lose a girl?"

"Gwen, I don't understand why you're acting like this. I mean, it's only tea-" he tries in a reasonable manner. His voice is cut off.

"It's not only tea, Trent. It's not only tea! It's more important than _just_ tea!" she feels her eyes go wet as her mouth shrivels up. She tries to speak, but it only comes out in sobs. Why is she doing this? Why are her hormones making this only worse? Why is this feeling so difficult to understand? She covers her red face in her hands, crumbling into her lap. She wants to disappear. Be gone. She wants to start this whole night over and never bring this up. She knows that she is only making Trent feel bad- feel like he did something bad, when all he did was be _Trent. _Lovely, perfect, innocent _Trent_. She wants to drown in her own self-pity and never return.

She feels that warm hand pat her back, slowly, gracefully, in the right motion that makes her fuzzy inside. "Gwen, please talk to me. I care."

She breathes in slowly, trying to dismiss the lump that currently lives inside of her throat. Her words are shaky, her breath is still hard, but she manages to say what he wants to. "I love you, Trent. That's the problem."

"That's not a problem," she hears him say. She looks up, unsure if she heard him right. "I love you, too, Gwen."

**So, how was it? I tried my best to get them to ****be in character, so hopefully it turned out. Please R&R.**


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